


Put Me In, Coach

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Baseball, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Grocery Store, Implied SwanFireQueen, Light Angst, Multi, Original Character(s), Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-05 03:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Gideon is playing little league baseball and the Gold-Swan-Mills family has trouble remembering they’re only spectators.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in months so this felt good!
> 
> Marie’s kiddos are into baseball this year so this happened. Just a little magical family AU. I took some license with the kids’ ages so we would have some players.
> 
> Written for the May A Monthly Rumbelling: limelight, sparkle, tap

The crack of the bat splintered the air, and the baseball catapulted deep into left field.

Belle shot to her feet with a raucous yell, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down on the bleachers. “Run, Roland, run!”

Young Roland Hood was diving headfirst into third base by the time the opposing team got the ball back into the infield, his hit driving Neal Junior and August across home plate.

Billows of red dust settled across the ballfield and Belle brushed the dirt off her thighs and plopped back down on the bench. Gideon’s baseball team, the Storybrooke Golden Nuggets, had pulled ahead by three. At the bottom of the ninth and final inning, the score stood tied at 4-4.

Another base hit, and they’d be knocking on victory’s door.

Belle poked him in the arm like a little girl and his lips quirked upward. “Rumple, did you see that hit?” she asked, catching her breath.

His smirk bloomed into a lopsided grin. Watching his wife watch was one of the best parts of the game. “Of course I did. A triple and two runs-batted-in. Well done, Roland.”

Another poke, this time in the ribs. “Why aren’t you on your feet, cheering for the team?”

He waved a gnat away from his face lazily. “I’m not one for shouting and jumping, sweetheart, but I enjoy your excitement. He really knocked the cover off the ball, didn’t he?”

She whistled under her breath, sounding impressed. “Look at you, up on all the baseball lingo.”

“It’s the great American pastime,” he drawled.

“And just how long have you been waiting to turn that particular phrase?”

“No matter.” He rubbed his fingers together in anticipation. “I’m a patient man, sweetheart.”

Rumplestiltskin shaded his eyes with the heel of his hand and scanned the crowd. Granny Lucas was in the stands, as she was at every game, seated beside Marco and guarding her cooler. It was bursting with sports drinks, and homemade ice cream sandwiches made with her fresh chocolate chip cookies, reserved for when the children were done playing. Clark reached out to open the cooler lid but Granny smacked him on the hand before he could poach a treat.

The Charmings were here, of course, to cheer for Neal Junior, and because David was the Head Coach. On the bench behind him and Belle sat Regina, Emma, and Neal, cheering for Gideon and encouraging Henry, who was helping out as David’s Assistant Coach.

It was quite a turnout for eight-year-old little league, but post-curse Storybrooke was a snug little town determined to support its own. Nothing bad had happened in ages, and if their biggest problem was smuggling baseball teams from the Land Without Magic back and forth across the town line without incident, that suited the Golds just fine.

“All you need now is some Cracker Jack, Rumple,” Belle said. It was the quintessential baseball snack and one of his favorites.

“If only my clever wife brought me some,” he teased back.

Her blue eyes sparkled with delight, reminding him of when she used to ply him with raspberry cakes in the Dark Castle as a distraction. While he popped sweet after sweet into his mouth and sipped on cinnamon tea laced with sugar, she would poke through his cabinets of magical artifacts as though she was getting away with something. Little did she know, he’d been a willing accomplice to her snooping.

“Have I ever forgotten to bring you snacks?” While Gideon strode up to the plate to take his turn at bat, Belle pulled a red, white, and blue cardboard box of caramel-coated popcorn and peanuts from the knapsack at her feet.  

Neal tapped Belle on the shoulder. “Got any more of that?”

Belle smiled and passed him three more boxes—one for him, one for Emma, and one for Regina.

“You’re like a walking concessions stand, Belle.” Neal tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth. “This is better than a New York Yankees game. All I need now is a beer and a chili dog.”

“How about after the game?” Belle offered with a wink. “Cookout at our house.”

Neal hesitated. “Is Papa grilling?”

“Always,” Belle said. They all knew she always burned the hotdogs.

“Then you’re on.” Neal ripped open his Cracker Jack box with a grin.

“Two outs,” Head Umpire Leroy shouted from behind home plate.

“Let’s go, Gideon!” From his post by the dugout, Coach David cupped his hands and shouted. “Tap your bat on the plate and get set, kiddo.”

While the spectators held their collective breath, Gideon’s gold jersey sparkled like drops of sunshine against the crystal blue sky, clipped grass, and orange clay. The beauty of the uniforms was a particular point of pride for Rumplestiltskin, as he had chosen and pad for them himself.

“I’ve never understood why players tap home plate when they’re batting.” Belle gestured at Gideon, who was pounding the plate with the thick end of the bat like his life depended on it.

“It’s so the batter can make sure his or her feet are in the right position.” Neal’s voice floated over their shoulders. “You wanna know you can touch the edges of the plate.”

“Others say it’s part of a wordless game within a game.” Rumple lifted the brim of Belle’s baseball cap, then pulled it down snug across her brow. “I read in a book that baseball is an enigma of signs and signals, sweetheart, inspired by the American Civil War.”

“I can’t think about books right now, Rumple.” Belle clasped her hands.

He would have checked her for a fever if he hadn’t known she was pouring all her attention into watching their son. “Come on, Number 12!” Belle called to Gideon, then unclenched her hands to chew her thumbnail.

Gideon’s turn at bat was always nerve-wracking and Belle murmured under her breath, pleading with the gods to grant him a hit. He’d already struck out twice this game, and this would be his last chance to bat today.

From his post on the pitching mound, Hook lobbed the ball over the plate, and Gideon swung and missed.

“Strike one!” Leroy called.

“Good swing, Gideon.” Coach David clapped while he paced the third base line. “Next one’s your pitch.”

“Why is Hook pitching again?” Regina asked. “I thought this was a children’s league.”

“If the shiny, swashbuckling shoe fits,” Rumple hissed.

“Rumple,” Belle said, her tone carrying a warning. “Hook’s helping. Be kind.”

“Henry told us this about 15 times,” Emma said. “It’s called ‘coach pitch.’ Kids at this age don’t pitch consistently, so they bring in an adult who can lob it in nice and easy.”

Belle put her hands over her eyes. “I can’t look.” She stole another long glance anyway, peeking through her fingers while another pitch sailed through the air, this one low and skirting the outside of the plate.

Gideon had the good sense to leave that one alone. Most of the kids swung at anything within reach but they were eight and, at this level, the game was more about fun than skill. Or so Belle kept telling him.

Rumple plucked a popcorn kernel from his Cracker Jack and popped it into his mouth, glaring at Hook between bites. Not that he would have been any better at pitching, but the fact that his nemesis was also David’s Assistant Coach irked him to no end.

“Ball one!” Leroy shouted.

Henry signaled to David, called a time out, and jogged out to home plate. He whispered in Gideon’s ear, then patted the top of his helmet with a clenched fist. Whatever Henry had said made Gideon grin, and Rumple’s rib cage felt too small to contain his heart. The relationship between his son and grandson was one of his greatest joys. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

He slipped his hand back into the box of popcorn and wriggled his fingers.

“What’s happening now?” Belle asked when Henry returned to the dugout.

“Gideon has one more pitch coming,” Rumple reported, his gaze pinned to the action.

“Yes, he’s still standing at the plate.” The heat of her pointed stare was unnerving. “I meant you. What are _you_ doing?”

He froze with his hand in the cardboard box, his fingertips sticky with salty caramel and his neck flushed with guilt. “Looking for the prize in the box,” he fibbed.

On his last pitch, Gideon swung, and the bat hit the ball with a satisfying smack. The baseball sailed over the outfield like it had wings and bounced off the fence.

On their team’s side of the field, the crowd erupted in applause and shouts and whistles.

His wife’s hands went from covering her face to framing her hips as she watched Gideon race around the bases and pound his foot on home plate. Belle was smiling and cheering with the rest of them, but when she turned to him her eyes were cloudy.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Rumple, you can shift the weather so the rain comes after the game, poof the opposing team’s kids and their families in and out of town so they believe Storybrooke is a normal place, outfit our players with the best athletic equipment money can buy, and build a stadium with an electronic scoreboard. But I draw the line at cheating.”

He offered his most winning smile. “Sweetheart, have I told you how much I like that navy cap? It really brightens your eyes.”

“Rumple!”

“So I’m helping the boy.” His ears turned red at the tips and he shifted on the bleachers. “I help the others too,” he added defensively.

“Equal opportunity cheating. How novel.” She rested a hand on his knee, the affectionate pat softening the sting of her words. “Darling, just let them play. It’s supposed to be fun.”

There was that word again. _Fun._

“Winning is fun,” he pronounced, noting with approval how Gideon’s teammates crowded around him for high-fives as the game ended with the Golden Nuggets winning 6 to 4. Acceptance. Belonging. They were the sweetest of feelings and with the exception of his wife and son, Rumplestiltskin had known far too little of both in his life. He wouldn’t allow his son to suffer a similar fate.

“They’re children,” Belle said, shaking her head. “Their goals in life are wearing jerseys and stuffing their faces with ice cream after the game.”

A meaty finger jabbed him in the back. “Did you do it again?”

He turned around and blinked at his son. “Do what?”

“Pop, come on.” Neal ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

After all these years Neal still didn’t trust magic and had relegated its use to the ‘for emergencies only’ category.

“I beg to differ.” Rumple glanced back at the field while players from both teams lined up on the field to shake hands. He was exactly as subtle as he thought and more. “Who else knows what I did except for you?”

Regina crushed a peanut between clenched teeth and fixed Rumple with a stare that made lesser beings cower. He glared back, unashamed. As though she hadn’t, and wouldn’t, commit every weapon in her arsenal to offer Henry an advantage!

Emma sipped her soda and frowned down at a blade of grass on the bleachers.

“Who knows isn’t the point.” Neal shook his head. “Gideon’s my baby brother and of course I want him to enjoy the limelight once in a while. Thing is, Papa, you’re not doing his playing any favors by cheating for him.”

“Better my help than the pirate’s,” Rumple growled.

“If you’re so concerned about the quality of play, you could have volunteered to coach the team yourself,” Neal fired back. “Man, you really can’t stand to lose, can you?”

“Lose? We won,” Rumple crowed. So what if he’d helped his son’s team along? Helping the team was the sponsor’s job. And if he used a touch of magic to tip the odds in their favor, where was the harm? It wasn’t as though he used magic at every game. They’d even lost one. He had gritted his teeth throughout that cloudy, humid afternoon, but he’d let it happen.  
  
“We could have won without the cheating,” Regina stood and crossed her arms. “Now we’ll never know.”

He tightened his fingers around the edge of the bench. “ Do you really think you should be the judge of morality, Your Majesty? The woman who cursed an entire kingdom because a little girl told a secret.”

“Not this again.” Neal closed his eyes.

“ _Your_ curse to get back to _your_ son.” Regina’s tone could have chipped ice.

“And I’d do it all again,” Rumplestiltskin snarled. “As would you, if you had enough grace and guts to admit it.”

“Maybe instead of arguing over a minor thing like a father supporting his son with a harmless little spell, we could have been watching the game.” Emma swatted popcorn crumbs off her jeans like they were stinging nettles. “Gideon scored and I missed the whole thing!”  

Neal’s mouth dropped open. “You agree with what Papa’s doing?”

“Look, all I’m saying is Gold’s not the first parent to try to make a tough situation easier on his kid and he won’t be the last.” Emma peered into her empty Cracker Jack box.

Neal straddled the bench with a labored sigh. “Is that some sort of code?”

“Yes, to which tough situation are you referring, Emma?” Regina’s lip curled at the corner. 

“You know how worried Henry was about last week’s chemistry exam?” Emma winced. “Well, I might’ve used my mom’s login to crack into the school computer system and get the answers to the test.”

“You helped my son cheat?” Regina shouted the last word and a few people sent them curious glances. Fortunately, Henry and Gideon were still busy with their post-game pep talk and didn’t notice.

“ _Our_ son.” Emma’s cheeks turned pink. “And I only gave him a few answers, not the entire test!”

“Oh, it was only _part_ of the test.” Regina threw up her hands. “I feel so much better.”

This was an interesting development, to be sure. His son’s brow was furrowed in confusion, the Queen looked like her head was going to explode, Belle was gnawing on lower her lip like she’d missed breakfast, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t unhappy for his family’s ire to be directed somewhere other than at him. Respect mingled with kinship in a way he’d never experienced with Emma. While he didn’t consider tacos and hot chocolate to be two of the four major food groups, her approach to parenting was logical. Why let your child wrestle with something when it was within your power to smooth the way? 

“Enough!” Belle stomped her foot, making the bleachers clang. “Gideon and Henry are headed this way and I think this is the last conversation they need to hear.”

Neal pouted. “So no chili dogs, huh?”

Belle’s nostrils flared, a sure sign she was running low on patience. “I said no more fighting, not no more eating. See you at the house.”

* * *

Their backyard cookout ended with the setting of the sun. Neal, Emma, Regina, and Henry had all gone home and there had been no more debate about baseball, chemistry tests, or the principles of proper parenting. Now it was time to clean up.

Belle’s relief was palpable as she scraped the remnants of hot dogs smothered in chili and coleslaw into the sink and dumped the paper plates into the trash. Bowls and platters that had brimmed with chips, potato salad, brownies, and Regina’s famous apple turnovers now sported only a smattering of crumbs.

Clearly, the tension hadn’t ruined anyone’s appetite. 

Rumple ran the disposal and turned on the taps, filling the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water. He always washed the dishes and Belle always dried, just as he always fired up the grill while she always set the table. The easy cadence of their routine was immensely comforting.

“Why don’t they remind Gideon to throw to second base when he’s playing center field?” he asked Belle when Gideon had gone upstairs with a snack size bag of pretzels and yet another ice cream sandwich. “He needs to hit the cutoff man if they’re going to get the ball back into the infield.”

“I only understood every third word of that sentence, love.” Belle plucked a clean towel from the drawer and lifted a wet platter from the drying rack. “But I think the bottom line is they’re too young. Those skills will come with time and practice.”

“The cutoff man is the player you throw to when you’re too far into the outfield.” He scrubbed a pan until it shone. “And there’s no such thing as too young to learn to do things properly, sweetheart.”

He passed her a pair of clean barbecue tongs after shaking the excess water into the sink.

“Properly? You mean like charging his bat with a little extra zing before he hits, or how a ball that flew over his head in the first inning somehow landed in his glove?” She shoved the dry tongs in a drawer with the spatula and slammed it.

“Says the woman who runs the mysterious magical library.” He snorted. “I haven’t heard any complaints when the characters pop out of the pages of novels and come to life at your story hour. Then it’s ‘all magic comes with a price, dearie.’”

“It’s not the same and you know it. You’re cheating.” Belle rolled her eyes and smacked his ass with her damp dish towel.

He danced away and laughed. “Don’t think of it as cheating. Think of it as protecting an investment.”

He was being glib but it was easier this way. When he was a boy, he’d been rubbish at sports. Because he was too puny and weak to throw a ball with any distance and force, the other village children had laughed at him. Rather than being encouraging and teaching him how to play their games, his father used to join them in their jeers. His father, the self-proclaimed king of games, had refused to play with his own son.

Even now, with all his power and wealth, the humiliation made his ears burn.

If you couldn’t be popular, be powerful. That was the lesson life had taught him. No longer in a playful mood, he stared into the sink filled with dingy bubbly water and blinked away tears.  

Sensing his upset the way she always did, Belle came up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his back. “What’s really troubling you, love?”

“It’s ridiculous,” he said, trying not to stiffen at her gentleness. Belle knew all about his past with his father.

“Try me.” She pressed a kiss to the space between his shoulder blades.

He turned around and drew her close. “I can’t help Gideon the way other parents can help their children. I can’t pitch like Emma or improve his stance like Bae. I don’t throw and catch well, and I can’t smile and encourage the players the way David can. Even a one-handed pirate has more game than I do.”

He didn’t say _I’m just like my father_ , but they both knew what he was thinking.

“That’s not true. You’re an excellent swordsman.” She kissed his chin. “Besides, it’s not as though I have an athletic bone in _my_ body.”

“No, you can only hike five miles before you break a sweat. And you read six languages including Fae. But who’s keeping track?”

She laughed. “You’re no slouch in the smarts department yourself, sir.”

“Yes, I cheated and I know it was wrong. But I don’t want Gideon to suffer the pain of being unsuccessful the way I have.” He shrugged. “The boy wants to play baseball and he wants to be good. He wants his friends to like him. I thought if I helped things along...it was my way of doing my part.”

“Unsuccessful?” She took his face between her hands and cupped his chin. “Listen to me, Rumplestiltskin. You’re the richest man in town and the most talented but you never steal the limelight. You acquire wonderful things for the shop for people to buy, you purchase crates of books for the library, you commissioned a new wing for the school. The properties you own provide people with affordable, safe homes. When you spin, it’s like poetry. And you are _nothing_ like your father.”

“Belle.” Emotion welled up in his chest at her praise. She’d known what he needed to hear even when he didn’t. “Sweetheart, do you mean it?”

“Absolutely. This baseball team is the Golden Nuggets because of you. You’re their sponsor. The uniforms, the equipment—it all came from you. I wanted Gideon to get a hit today, too. You’re protecting and loving him the best way you know how. But sometimes part of being his parents means having to stand by and watch him fail. If we fix everything for him, how will he grow and learn?”

Belle was right. He hated to admit it, but it was true.

He nodded. “Would it be alright if I promise not to do it again but we don’t tell him about today or any of this?” He didn’t want to look like an old fool in front of his son.

“Of course.” Belle inched closer and wound her arms around his neck. “In the meantime, I have a great idea for how we can help Gideon with his game in a way that’s fair.”

“What is it?”

“Tomorrow, you can take Gideon to the batting cages to practice his swing.” She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “And tonight, you can take me to bed and show me yours.”

He frowned, confused. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Her eyes roamed over his body, dark with appreciation. “It’s my understanding you have quite the bat of your own.”

“I do enjoy a good game of baseball.” He grinned. “Lead the way, Mrs. Gold.”

###

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golds run into "Coach David" Nolan in the grocery store and Rumplestiltskin is seized by a bout of jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the June AMR: "That's the least romantic thing you've ever said to me."
> 
> Thanks to galactic-pirates for listening to me drone on about magic and baseball.

“Well, Rumple, what do you think?”

Belle plopped two quarts of Maine blueberries down on the conveyor belt, sweet little purple globes that heralded the last weeks of summer. Tonight, Henry was having a sleepover with Gideon at their house and she wanted to attempt a homemade blueberry cobbler for dessert.

Blueberries, not apples, were Henry’s favorite fruit, a preference his mother Regina didn’t appreciate, but was a great source of amusement to the rest of the family.

Rumplestiltskin sighed heavily, pretending to be put out. “Sweetheart, if you want to bake, I’m here to coach you on to victory.” He grinned. “For better or worse, remember?”

She stuck out her tongue at him, making him chuckle.

On this go-round, he’d have to pitch in as more than just chief taste-tester if they wanted to avoid the oven fire they’d had the last time she baked.

His wife possessed many wonderful qualities, but kitchen skills were not among them. When they’d lived together in the Dark Castle, he used to hover in the kitchen doorway for the sheer pleasure of watching her burn everything from chicken to cakes to carrots. He’d developed a particular talent for rescuing her meals in the nick of time. 

Once, she’d singed her fingertips in the fire and he was so furious with himself for allowing her to be hurt, he’d locked himself in his tower for the rest of the night. Belle had stormed up the stone staircase holding a tray of tea and cakes and banged on the door until he relented. That evening, she’d spent hours reading to him from one of her favorites while he crowded next to her on the settee, dutifully eating burned scones and turning pages to protect her injured hand.

Who said dark magic never amounted to anything good?

He deposited sacks of flour and sugar on the conveyor belt, as well as vanilla ice cream. Whether the icy treat would be topping for the cobbler or their alternate dessert remained to be seen.

“Oh, goodie, you remembered the one with the vanilla beans.” Her face shone with pleasure when he showed her the black carton. It was so easy to make her happy.

“Where’re Gideon and Henry?”

“Still in the candy aisle.” He shrugged. “I gave them permission to choose one item.” The register dinged as the cashier rang out the customer in line ahead of them. 

“Hey, Belle, Gold.” David Nolan slid a bottle of milk and a carton of brown eggs into a shopping bag. We just got back from our week at the beach and I’m here for the necessities.”

Rumplestiltskin felt a stab of envy. The domestic errand did nothing to diminish Nolan’s masculinity. He was every inch the golden god, his tanned arm muscles straining against the confines of his short-sleeved polo shirt. He’d bet David Nolan never worried about how he looked in a pair of bathing trunks.

“Nolan.” Suddenly grouchy, he crossed his thin, pasty arms, safely encased beneath his many layers of Armani. He normally didn’t break a sweat, even in the deep August heat, but today perspiration prickled the back of his neck. He rested a warm hand on top of the ice cream to cool himself.

“Haven’t seen you since the Golden Nuggets team awards dinner at Tony’s,” David said. “How are you guys?”

“David, hi. Gideon’s around here somewhere.” Belle poked her head above the register endcap and scanned what she could see of the candy aisle. “He’s been working on his swing and I’m sure he’d like to show you.”

“His game has come a long way.” David flashed a proud smile. “But I’m in a hurry. Maybe I could stop by and give him some pointers next week?”

Rumplestiltskin scowled and drummed his fingers on top of the ice cream carton. He’d like to offer Nolan some _pointers_ of his own. Like on how to take care of his own family and leave his alone.

“Mary Margaret’s waiting in the car, so I’ll get right to it,” David said. “Now that baseball season’s over, we’ve decided to charter a football program. Neal Junior is excited to play quarterback. Would Gideon be interested in joining the team?” David accepted his change from the cashier, and the conveyor belt whined as Belle and Gold’s small collection of groceries wobbled toward the register. “It’s tag, not tackle.”

Rumplestiltskin wondered if that was meant to be reassuring.

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Did the man need to coach every sport known to mankind? Perhaps Storybrooke needed tennis, golf, volleyball, and wrestling programs as well. And American football? It was a brute’s sport, and the Underworld would freeze over before he’d allow Gideon to play.

Belle hummed in consideration. “We were going to sign Gideon up for some indoor batting sessions, but we might introduce him to some other sports, depending. Rumple, what do you think?”

He couldn’t believe Belle was even entertaining the notion. “Why not take them down to Fortune’s Rocks for surfing lessons instead?” he suggested, clamping down on his back teeth.

Sarcasm hung in the air like fog and Nolan’s brow furrowed in confusion.   

Fortune’s Rocks was an inlet a few miles down Storybrooke’s coast, a place where rough sea walls crashed sharply against enormous, craggy boulders. The locals knew Fortune’s waves were only for the most experienced, danger-loving surfers. Every summer, some poor unfortunate soul was injured or worse on its punishing rocks.

His wife pressed her lips into a thin white line. “Thanks for the offer, David,” she said. “We’ll get back to you.”

“No problem. Don’t wait too long, though. Practice starts next week.” Unflappable as ever, David exited the store with his groceries balanced on one arm, he free hand raised in a little wave.

Once the princeling had disappeared, Belle sighed. “What was that all about? I thought you liked David.”

“He’s tolerable.” Rumple huffed. “Tag or not, American football is too dangerous. A sport designed for those whose brains are in their biceps.” _And for those who are strong and brave._

He crossed his arms again. He really needed to get into the backyard and work on his own tan. Somewhere in the bowels of the basement there was an old set of dumbbells. Perhaps he should start sneaking into the basement to lift weights instead of spending the wee hours spinning.

“It was only an offer, love. We could have politely said ‘no, thank you,’” Belle said.

He hated how measured and reasonable she was acting, but he couldn’t very well confess it was David’s handsome masculinity that had put him in such a foul temper. “He was certainly looking well after a week at the beach,” Gold allowed grudgingly.

“Yeah, he’s a hot ticket.” The elderly cashier, who had a shock of bright red hair and wore a nametag proclaiming her as Dora, jawed on a wad of bright pink bubble gum.

Ignoring Dora’s comment, Belle turned away from the groceries to run her hands up and down his chest. “It’s not a competition, Rumple. Not a fair one, at any rate.”

“True.” He was nothing special to look at. Bland as white toast and just as dry. He cracked jokes about being irresistible to women, but he recognized the truth as well as anyone else. People were attracted to his power. Only Belle had ever cared to peel back his layers to understand the quiet, fragile man beneath.

“I suppose David’s nice looking enough if boyish charm interests you.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not me. I prefer a man with a leaner physique.”

Heat toasted Gold’s cheeks, making the cool grocery store feel like a sauna. “Sweetheart, that is the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” he drawled, covering his surprise.

As usual, his wife had read him like one of her well-loved, careworn books. Sometimes her innocent sweetness stupefied him. Who in their right mind would prefer Rumplestiltskin to Prince Charming? Then again, his Belle had always been an unusual creature.

“You know what I mean.” She moved her nails along his collarbones in teasing scrapes, her breath a lascivious whisper against his neck. “Wiry. Distinguished. And incredibly sexy in my favorite paisley tie.”

“Indeed,” he managed around a gulp.

“Anyway,” Belle turned to Dora, still making a show of fixing his tie. “I don’t think David Nolan is the cheating type.”

The cashier was gaping, the sticky mess of bubble gum half hanging out of her mouth. Whether she was shocked by the way Belle was touching him or her directness regarding David Nolan’s lack of availability, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t be sure.

Gideon poked his head around Rumple’s side and Belle stepped back. “What are you guys talking about?” Their son heaved an enormous package of Skittles on the conveyor. “Cheating?”

 _Uh oh._ A change in subject was desperately in order.

“Did you two commandeer the largest bag of candy in the store?” Gold reached down to ruffle Gideon’s curly hair and then reached up to do the same to Henry.

“This _and_ blueberry cobbler with ice cream.” Henry’s grin was triumphant. “Only the best when I sleep over, right Grandpa?”

He couldn’t resist smiling back. When it came to these boys, he was a complete marshmallow. They all knew the candy and the ice cream were insurance policies in case Belle’s latest baking experiment went awry. “That’s right, m’boy.”

Dora rang up the enormous bag of candy with the rest of their order. “Your total is $14.47,” she said, two red spots coloring the centers of her cheeks.

“They’re talking about cheating,” Gideon told Henry. “Like at a game.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his lips twitch. “Who said anything about cheating?” He handed the cashier money for the groceries. He turned to Belle, hoping for help with Henry and Gideon, but she shook her head and smothered a giggle. Very well; he’d torture her with tickling later.

“You did,” Gideon reminded him.

A dog with a bone, Rumplestiltskin thought darkly.

“We didn’t mean _that_ kind of cheating,” he said, then instantly regretted it. Why in the name of all the realms was he still talking?

“What other kind of cheating is there?” Gideon frowned.

Growing exasperated, Rumplestiltskin pinched the bridge of his nose. Their son’s dogged determination was a trait he’d inherited from both he and Belle. Today, it was not serving his father well. “There’s no cheating. No one is cheating.”

“Right, Grandpa.” Henry winked. “You mean this bit right here at the baseball games?” He wriggled his fingers and waggled his eyebrows.  

Both boys blinked at him with feigned innocence. Gold was nonplussed. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Henry might put the pieces together?

“Well, I…” For once the silver-tongued Rumplestiltskin was at a loss for words.

Faced those trusting expressions, mocking or otherwise, he found he couldn’t gloss over the truth.

He was caught.

Together they bagged their groceries in silence and stepped out into the sunshine. The late August breeze was a welcome refreshment to his heat-prickled skin.

“Relax, Papa.” Gideon ambled through the parking lot at his side, his long-suffering sigh far beyond his eight years. “I know all about you helping our team sometimes at the games. Everyone does. Even Coach David.”

Henry nodded in agreement.

“What?” It seemed his secret help was no secret after all.

“Whenever we needed to score, somebody would get a super awesome hit,” Gideon said. “Like Roland and me did in our last game.”

“Roland and I,” Belle interjected.

Oh, now she wanted to be part of the conversation. Mrs. Grammar Police!

Speechless, Rumplestiltskin studied the pavement as they began the two-block walk home. It seemed Neal was right after all. He was not as clever as he’d believed.

Gideon slipping his small hand into Rumplestiltskin’s larger one and squeezed his fingers. The childish comfort touch soothed his bruised ego.

“No worries.” Gideon clucked his tongue the way Belle did whenever their son awoke from a bad dream. “When I grow up you won’t have to help me anymore. I’ll be awesome at magic. But not better than you, Papa.”

“No, of course not.” He managed a weak smile. His body had continued moving down the street but he felt like his mind was still back on the sidewalk outside the store, slack-jawed and confused because Gideon wasn’t upset with him.

Although he and Belle had agreed never to discuss his cheating with Gideon, the lie had still bothered him. But he’d convinced himself that should Gideon ever learn the truth, the consequences would be catastrophic. Instead, his beloved boy was brushing off his interference as if it were nothing.

“You won’t need magic for baseball,” Belle said with motherly authority. “You’ll be able to win without any outside assistance.”

“Absolutely!” Henry looped his arm around Gideon’s neck and gave him a noogie until the younger boy howled with laughter and twisted out of reach. “Magic is a tool, not a crutch, right Grandpa?”

A lump formed in Rumplestiltskin’s throat. There was far too much compassion in his grandson’s knowing look, but even as a precocious ten-year-old, Henry’s wisdom and empathy had always been extraordinary. Rumple supposed being the son of two magical mothers made him uniquely qualified to mentor his much younger uncle Gideon.

“That’s right.” Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat, eager to move on to a lighter topic. His lips quirked and he looked at his wife. “Unless we’re cooking with your grandmother. Then we need to call on every spell in the book.”

“Henry agreed to call me _Belle_ years ago _,”_ she said with emphasis. Her eyes were alight with indignation but her lips were pursed with repressed humor. “As for you, there will be no blueberry cobbler!”

Rumplestiltskin gave a mock gasp and as their laughing and teasing continued, tension fell from his shoulders like scales. Arm-in-arm with his wife, he shook off the unwelcome weight and strolled past the baseball field feeling lighter than air.

Up ahead at the intersection, David’s truck trundled by, but the jealousy that had boiled up so quickly in the grocery store had evaporated, at least for the moment. Some insecurities would never die, but as he carried their groceries down the sun-soaked street and basked in the love, compassion, and laughter of his family, Rumplestiltskin was nothing but content.

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer is calling and I wasn't done playing with this yet. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a sports fic. Hope the baseball jargon wasn't too much for you guys. Thanks for reading!


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